


Back in the USA

by linda92595



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Incest, M/M, Male Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-01-10
Packaged: 2017-11-25 00:16:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/633076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linda92595/pseuds/linda92595
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Mexico John and Dean hunt for a chupracabra, get cursed and reach an epiphany.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back in the USA

 

Dean lay on the bed flicking through the channels with the remote control. This motel wasn’t the greatest but considering he and his Dad had just spent the last three weeks in Camargo in a place that made this dive look like the Hilton he wasn’t complaining.

 

The vibrating bed chugged to a halt. Dean sighed rolling onto his side, dropping a few more quarters into the slot. His eyes rolled up in his head as the vibrating churned to life again, and he flicked the channel once more.

 

 “Holy crap,” Dean said grinning.

 

The porn channel was unscrambled; hot damn Magic Fingers and free porn, Dean could die a happy man. Quickly he pulled the too soft pillow from behind his head, and dropped it onto the flat surface of the bed. With a grunt he slipped his boxers off tossing them onto the floor. Dropping onto the bed on his stomach he wriggled around easing one hand beneath him to tug at his already hardening dick. He whistled appreciative at the red headed chick with a huge rack and slid his cock under the pillow. Hello Magic Fingers.

 

He was on his way to a fine finish, the first of many if his Dad stayed gone long enough, when a shadow fell across the window. Aw shit, he glanced up but his Dad had laid the salt lines so he hoped the two figures would pass on by. No such luck.

 

There was a pounding on the door, hard enough that the glass panes in the windows rattled. Dean scrambled off the bed grabbed his boxers and hobbled to the door. He vainly hunched over trying to hide his erection, then winced. He had forgotten about the TV.

 

He stepped to the side letting the door cover him as much as possible and cringed at the sight of a large, angry looking deputy. His Dad was handcuffed and sagging against the wall, obviously rip-snorting drunk. He was beat up a bit too. Dean sighed.

 

“What’d he do, Sheriff?”

 

“Well, not much. Drunk and disorderly mostly, but the holding tank's full and to tell you the truth it was as much those other boys' fault as his, so I thought I’d just bring him home to you.”

 

“Yeah, thanks a lot.”

 

Dean frowned. The deputy just shoved John into the room, and turned him around to remove the handcuffs. With a grin he waited until Dean had a good hold on his father’s arm before backing up.

 

“Look, those boys from the paper mill weren’t real happy about losing their paychecks to your… uhmm 'friend' here. But near as I can figure they lost fair and square so I got nothing to do with that. I always say if you can’t afford to lose you ought not to play poker. But all the same keep him outta Big Jim’s for a while.”

 

Nodding Dean propelled John toward the bed.

 

“Thanks, but we’re leaving tomorrow anyway, something came up.”

 

“Well, goodnight folks.”

 

The deputy smiled and John started to flip him off, but Dean managed to preempt the gesture and force his father down on the bed. Quickly closing and locking the door he moved back to the bed and started getting John undressed. The vibrations made his Dad’s belt buckle rattle as Dean jerked it out of his jeans. He got the boots and socks off then stripped off John’s pants and jacket. The fact that his father just lay there not moving was enough to make Dean feel a tad guilty about what he was going to do next.

 

Suddenly John stiffened.

 

“Can you turn off that vibrating thing? It’s making me neaus, it’s making me noseated, it’s making me uhh...naseated… I think I’m going to puke.”

 

“No you’re not. Here roll over. I’ll get the trashcan, and some water.”

 

Dean picked up the empty garbage can and put it beside the bed, then went to the bathroom and brought John a glass of water. His Dad took the glass with the exaggerated care of the very drunk and gulped the water down.

 

Suddenly he looked at the TV.

 

“What are you watching? Jeeze, will you look at the tits on the redhead? Man those are…you just want to get one in each hand and push them together so you can rub your…”

 

“Dad… Dad--please. I’m you’re son. I really don’t want to hear that.”

 

“Oh please, don’t get pious on me. You’re the one whose been shoving your dick up my ass since Mexico.”

 

“Yeah, yeah heard it all before,” Dean said with a grin.

 

He carefully shoved John down on the bed and pushed him around until his head was at the foot of the bed. Picking up the pillow he rolled his father over face down, and pulled John’s underwear off. With a quick gesture Dean pulled a bottle and foil packet out of his shaving kit. With brisk economical movements Dean squirted a dollop of lube on the small of John’s back and scooped it up onto two fingers. John sighed then grunted as his hips were pushed forward by the force of Dean’s fingers working their way inside.

 

“Hey, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

 

His father’s voice stuttered to a halt as Dean curled his fingers and pressed down. John’s hips came up off the bed.

 

 “That’s it, nice and easy, John,” Dean muttered, patting his Dad on the back with his other hand.

 

“Dean, oh my god.”

 

His Dad’s voice died out all together and John bit the side of his forearm to keep from groaning. Dean slid the condom on and bent down thrusting inside his farther in one long stroke. John did groan then.

 

It took a little stretching but Dean managed to slide a few more quarters in the slot for the bed, and then jumped a little as John’s body began vibrating under him. He lay down pressing his father’s now erect cock into the pillow under his hips and rode the vibrations. John moaned again, a lot louder than before and Dean flashed a look at the wall between their room and the next. John narrowed his eyes and smiled.

 

“Oh yeah baby boy, give it to Daddy good,” he practically screamed.

 

Dean flinched.

 

“Dad, knock it off.”

 

He and John had found out the hard way that the young couple in the next room were born-again Christians on their honeymoon. The young man had approached Dean in the diner complaining about ‘sounds’ that had been coming from their room a few nights ago. Every night since then John had made it a point of honor to make sure that the young couple knew each and every time that he and Dean had sex. John also made sure to refer to himself as ‘Daddy’ loudly and at great length, as well as making sure they knew he was on the catching end of the game. It was icing on the cake that the young couple wouldn’t look John in the face anytime they passed him in the hall.

 

John drew a deep breath and Dean squashed himself against the older man’s back, pretty much forcing all the air out of his lungs. Dean slid his hand under John to preempt his complaints and tugged. That was all it took and John convulsed under him. Dean rode it out, and then thrust in deeply, coming in hard spurts. He dropped onto John’s back wallowing around until John grunted and rolled over spilling Dean onto the bed.

 

“You know, Dean,” John said, his voice quavering and Dean decided that his father was probably on the verge of a crying jag. Which happened once in while when John over indulged and which used to scare the crap out of Sam and Dean when they were younger. “This is the worst thing I have ever done. Doing this to you…”

 

“Dad, as you so inelegantly pointed out, I do this to you. I have been doing this to you since Mexico and I am going to keep doing this to you, so get over it.”

 

“I would have never taken that job if I’d known…." John snuffled and Dean rolled his eyes. He tugged at his father's arm until the older man shuffled around and slid under the blankets. Dean turned off the TV and rummaged through the drawer for tissues. John was bawling whole-heartedly now and Dean just sighed. Yep, crying jag. God, his Dad was getting to be a depressing drunk.

 

Dean lay beside his Dad listening as the older man’s snuffles drifted into a loud uneven snoring. He could hear sounds on the other side of the wall, bedsprings squeaking, and he wondered if the newlyweds were protesting just a tad bit too much. It sure seemed like they got off on listening to John’s play by play of his and Dean’s escapades.

 

John rolled onto his side throwing an arm across Dean’s chest, and snored into his ear. Dean sighed again. He thought back to the last few weeks, a chupracabra his Dad had said, and Dean had believed him.

 

Two months earlier…

 

John shoved the door to the motel room opened. He grinned at Dean and dropped his wallet on the nightstand beside the bed. Dean shifted around giving his father room to sit down. The bed was barely wide enough for the both of them sitting side by side since both Dean and John tended to be broad through the shoulder, but it was also the last room available in Santa Fe. And last night when they checked in, neither one of them had been clear headed enough to drive any further.

 

Dean was still limping from their last hunt. A salt and burn in Kingman on their way back from Palo Alto checking on Sam. They had located the troublesome spirit’s grave and laid it to rest, when they had run into a hellhound, probably on the hunt for some poor condemned soul who had a deal with a demon. The hellhound had been a trifle harder to deal with than the ghost, and Dean had ended up taking a swan dive out of a second story window before John got the thing.

 

His ankle wasn’t broken but it hurt like hell, so they were taking the scenic route back to the east coast looking for hunts along the way. Santa Fe had been the first thing to pop up, a paying gig too. Nothing more than a garden variety poltergeist in a high class restaurant, which was scaring the patrons. It was routine and a little boring, but it kept food on the table and a roof over their heads, so they weren’t complaining. And Dean decided that, considering the hellhound had done a number on his leg, routine might not be a bad thing.

 

John had supplemented their pay with some high stakes poker, and they were flush right now. So they were looking for a decent motel ready to take some time off. The only problem was that there was some kind of convention in town, and there were no rooms available. This place had been a last resort. Not that they were adverse to sharing a bed, Dean could pretty much sleep in a closet if he was tired, and John always slept in a tight little bundle, on his left side, one arm tucked up under the pillow, hand close to his Glock.  In all the time that they had been on the road, whether in sleeping bags or bed Dean could never remember seeing his Dad sleep any other way.

 

Instead of getting ready for bed John laid his journal across his knee and pulled out a few newspaper clippings he had collected over the past few days. “We’re heading down to Mexico.”

 

“Why?” Dean asked with a sneer. John shot him a look and flipped the largest of the clippings up holding it aloft in front of his son’s face.

 

“Chupracabra, in Chihuahua, a little city called Camargo.”

 

“Don’t we have enough trouble this side of the boarder?”

 

John snorted.

 

“I’ve never seen one, and I want to get as much info on it as we can, for the network.”

 

Dean lay back closing his eyes knowing that once his father played the gathering information card he would never change his mind. Dean thought that his Dad would give up Intel as a motivation when Sam left. But he apparently believed that Dean actually gave a damn, so he was resigned to a trip south of the boarder.

 

His Dad was all but dozing over his journal, probably because he was taking sleeping pills on the sly again. Dean would have to watch that John didn’t mix the drugs with alcohol. Dean didn’t know why John tried to hide it. He wouldn’t say anything. He supposed that his father thought it was some kind of weakness, but Dean knew that his father would lay awake for days on end if the drugs didn’t help ease him into sleep once in a while. John stripped to his boxers and slipped under the covers.

 

They had to sleep pressed together and since John had already drifted into his drug induced slumber about half an hour earlier Dean was left trying to find a comfortable position. He rolled over spooning up behind his father and slid an arm around John’s waist. His Dad was warm, almost hot to the touch, and the heat radiating off his body was nice. Dean snuggled in close, trailing his fingers down the line of dark hair that ran from his father’s chest to parts south.

 

Dean shivered as the muscles in John’s abdomen jumped under his touch. Dean had finally admitted to himself that the reason he could never form any lasting romantic attachments was that he loved his father, or more accurately, he was in love with his father.

 

There had been no defining moment in his life that Dean could actually remember realizing that he was in love with John. He had never really considered it. With so much in their lives that was not normal, why should that be any different?  His father had never led him to believe that John felt anything but fatherly affection for him and Sam, but sometimes he could almost sense an underlying tension in John.  Desperation directed at Dean that his father was trying hard to conceal. Dean knew that John would never approach him for physical intimacy. But Dean was also sure that if he approached his father he wouldn’t be refused either. The almost knowing was slowly driving Dean insane.

 

Dean shifted closer, pushing his leg between John’s knees. The older man expelled his breath in a long sigh, and Dean was struck again by a sense of wanting. He let his fingers drift a little further south. John was hard, cock tight against his belly. For a man his age it seemed like John was more than ready most nights. Of course his father was also celibate, and had been for as long as Dean could remember. And Dean thought that might contribute to the underlying sense of sexual tension that constantly seemed to color his interactions with his father.

 

Molding his body against his Dad’s back Dean gripped John tightly through the thin material of his underwear, and John’s head tipped back breath hitching. Dean slid his own erection into the crack of John’s ass, and pushed his hips forward as he stroked John once firmly. That was all it took and a warm wetness spread over the front of his father’s boxers. Dean bit his lower lip, and came.

 

After he had gone to the bathroom to clean up Dean slid into the bed again. John was in his tight little bundle, an almost fetal curl, hand under the pillow. Dean shoved against his butt and John jerked in his sleep. But Dean managed to carve out enough space for himself. He felt in an overwhelming sense of guilt at what he had just done; what he had done several times before. And he knew it would be worse in the morning when his father woke to semen stained clothes and fled into the bathroom with an embarrassed expression on his face.

 

 

They crossed the boarder at Tijuana and headed east to Camargo. The roads faded from multi-laned freeways to a single street. John navigated the narrow streets in the huge old Impala with increased difficulty, finally dropping the speed as low as possible and still keeping moving.

 

They stopped for lunch at a small family owned restaurant, built and decorated like the Mission that was the central tourist attraction in the city.  John pushed the double doors open and settled at a small table with Dean seated across from him. A family, Mom and Dad and two young children were seated in a booth across form them, the little girl, about six, entertaining her brother who looked to be no more than three. The little boy had kicked his shoes off and was wandering between several table sucking his thumb. He cast a suspicious glance at the two of them and scurried back to the safety of his father’s knees. He peeked out but John barely paid attention to the toddler. He had learned early on that a big, dangerous looking man paying too close attention to young children could put him in a world of hurt.

 

Finally, the family finished their meal and the mother gathered the kids up as Dad went to pay the bill. The young woman scooped up her baby boy, and the little girl followed behind. John noticed the boy’s shoes under the bench.

 

“Mejia, no deja sus hermanos zapatos. Estan’ debayo del banco.”  _Little girl, don’t forget your brother’s shoes. They’re under the bench._

 

The little girl ducked under the table and gathered the baby’s shoes up, tucking them under her arm. She smiled at John in passing.

 

“Gracias, senor.”

 

The elderly lady serving the tables brought their food, and deposited the tray on the table. She glanced at John who was almost as tall sitting down as she was standing up. With a grimace she mumbled,

 

“Tu ablas espanol bastante bueno.” _You speak pretty good Spanish._

 

John smiled, at her.

 

“Yo trato de hablarlo para ser watto.”  _I do okay for a white boy_.

 

Chuckling, the lady popped the top of his beer bottle then handed the bottle opener to Dean. He took a sip at the bottle and nodded toward the door, and the city beyond.

 

“Is there a decent hotel that’s not full? A place where we can get a room?”

 

At first he thought she might not answer, then it occurred to him that she might not speak English., and he turned to his father to get him to translate, but she made a motion to stop him.

 

“You two are not…?” she made a limp wristed gesture with one hand, and John laughed. Shaking his head he offered her his hand.

 

“I’m John Winchester, and this is my son, Dean.”

 

The hotel they ended up checking into could be politely called shabby, and if Dean was in a down right hostile mood he would have called it a dump. But they had spent a few nights sleeping in the car so he was grateful for the tiny, cramped room until he saw the single double bed tucked between two chipped nightstands. And a tall scarred dresser. There was no closet and no bathroom. Dean turned a mute gaze on his father and John motioned to the hall.

 

“Most rooms in places like this don’t have a private bathroom; we have to use the one down the hall.”

 

“Shit,” Dean said, “Look, Dad, the next time you want to go on one of your little fact-finding missions count me out. I’ll stay with Bobby or Jim, or anybody.”

 

Grinning John dumped his duffle-bag on the table in the corner. He pulled a large silk scarf out of his duffle bag and a bottle of India ink. Taking up a brush John carefully worked transferring a design out of his journal onto the scarf. Dean settled at the table beside his father watching as the image came into being. Finally, when John was done he surveyed the drawing nodding in pleasure at the results.

 

“Where’s your sense of adventure, Dean? Your quest for knowledge?”

 

“I left it in the States along with my sense of humor, and apparently my digestive tract, too.” Dean grumbled clapping a hand on his belly. When his stomach made a weird whooshing, rumble John eyed him critically.

 

“I told you to only drink bottled water.”

 

“Oh yeah, where’s your sense of adventure, Dad.”

 

“There’s a difference between adventurous and foolhardy, apparently you’ve never figured that out. Besides I had amoebic dysentery in Vietnam. I learned the hard way.”

 

Dean offered him a quirky grin.

 

“That’s pretty much standard for Winchesters, Dad. If we learn at all it’s the hard way. What is that Dad?”

 

“A net or more exactly a binding spell transferred onto silk cloth. It’ll bind damn near anything, all you have to do is throw it onto the thing, and it’ll hold. Are you gonna be able to get out this afternoon. I want to do some recon, check out the site that the damn thing was supposed to hanging around.”

 

“I think I’ll be okay. So where is this chupracabra anyway?”

 

“There’s an old Anasazi pueblo near town, a newspaper in Santa Fe said all the bodies were found there.”

 

“Bodies,” Dean echoed, “How’d they die?”

 

“Not a mark on them, so nobody knows but they were mummified, like all the fluid had been sucked out of them.”

 

Dean sighed.

 

“You know Dad; this is scraping the bottom of the barrel.  Next you’ll have us out looking for Bigfoot or something.”

 

John cast him a sideways glance.

 

“Dean everybody knows that all the Sasquatch are extinct.”

 

Dean paused not sure if his Dad was pulling his leg or not, until John grinned. Dean shook his head and followed his father out the door.  They decided to walk to the pueblo because John wasn’t in the mood to dodge pedestrians in the Impala. And he sure wasn’t in the mood to deal with the Mexican police, and something about the way he said it made Dean think he’d done it before. So they headed out in the late-afternoon sun.

 

The pueblo was carved in the living rock of a huge old canyon. Dean could see that some efforts had been made to set the thing up as a tourist attraction. Many of the ramps leading into the ancient dwellings had been roped off. But some of the lower level entrances were cleared of debris and open. At the center of the structure was a large stone block building. It resembled a Mayan or Aztec ziggurat but on a much smaller scale. The entry way was fenced by a chain link gate and padlocked shut. It took Dean all of three minutes to pick the lock and drop it into the red sand littering the open doorway.

 

John followed his son into the dimly lit interior. The front room of the pyramid was bare, the light filtering in from the open doorway and several small slit windows. They could see several ramps leading up to a second story, open doors marking other rooms.

 

The air was cooler, but stale.  A cloying musky scent hung in the atmosphere. Dean sniffed and grunted in distaste. He couldn’t quiet identify the odor teasing his senses, but it set his teeth on edge.

 

It took him a few minutes to realize that he had a hard-on. In fact he was harder than he could ever remember being. Blushing Dean glanced at his father, and could see that the front of John’s jeans were tented with a fairly impressive erection as well. John refused to look at him, and kept his eyes on the upper floor doorways, looking for the creature.

 

At the top of the ramp John motioned Dean to one door while he took the other. Pulling his Glock John jerked his head toward the left door and watched as Dean, gun drawn, headed toward the right doorway. If they were lucky the doors both opened into the same room.

 

John paused watching as Dean leaned into the room, then plunged in. The room was dark, but enough light parted the interior that John could see it was a small room, separate from the room Dean was in. With a grumbled curse John pulled a phosphorus stick out of his pocket and cracked it against his thigh. The room was lit by the eerie green glow.

 

Holding the stick aloft John eased into the room. It was a small room, roughly square with only thin slits carved out of the wall for lighting. At the far side of the room was a stone altar, in the dim light it was impossible to see if there were glyphs or symbols carved into the rock.

 

Suddenly the sound of something moving behind the altar caught John’s attention, and he slid to a halt raising his gun.

 

“Come on out,” he hissed. 

 

The movements ceased for a moment.

 

“If I have to come back there and get you out, you’ll regret it. There’s no need for you to die if you aren’t who I’m looking for, but I will shoot you if you don’t show yourself right now.”

 

Suddenly a figure rose up from behind the stone. She was small, probably a foot shorter than him.  In the pale green light it was impossible for him to judge her age but she looked to be no older than Dean. John relaxed, but he didn’t drop the gun. Evil came in all shapes and sizes he reminded himself.

 

Her eyes were luminous brown which softened with her smile. Suddenly the air in the room seemed too thin, and John couldn’t breathe. His arm wavered, and the gun fell heavily on the floor. She stepped over it, raising a hand toward him and John found himself pinned against the wall, held by invisible bonds. He struggled and she laughed; the sound like the tinkling of little silver bells.

 

She eased forward, and ran a finger down John’s chest, working the buttons on his shirt. It gaped open, baring his chest.  She slid her fingers through the soft brown hair.

 

“You are so much younger than the last ones, only old framers around here. Too bad it’s not the other, but he will be here when you are gone.”

 

John jerked against the force holding him in place.

 

“So you’re the chupracabra? What was all that stuff about a goat sucker?”

 

Grinning she worked her hands into his belt and undoing the buckle. His zipper slid open, and she tugged John’s jeans and boxers down to the knee. He winced and tried to shrink away from her hands. He was rock hard, aching with need, and her slim fingers pulled a moan from his lips before he could shut it off.

 

“Would you suck goats when there are human men available?” she said with a sly smile.

 

John flinched.

 

“Uh, I don’t really know how to respond to that, ma’am.”

 

With a sigh the woman dropped to her knees in front of John and he gasped, “Holy crap…”

 

His eyes rolled up into his head, as she slid her tongue around the head of his cock. Suddenly he was engulfed in wet heat, and John moaned. He panted, caught between blinding pain and searing pleasure. His head swam as she worked her mouth up and down his cock.

 

There was movement at the door, and both of them turned. Dean stood in the fading light of the glow stick, and John could see the grin on his son’s face even in the dark. He panted, “Couldn’t you wait just five more minutes?”

 

“Dad,” Dean huffed.

 

With a quick flick of his wrist he hurled the silk scarf. It fell over the woman’s form, and she jerked away from his father. John groaned in frustration. She hissed at Dean, struggling, but true to what his father had said the binding spell held her fast. With a snarl she settled back glancing slyly at John.

 

“He’ll die,” she whispered, and for a brief second Dean wavered. But the spell kept her power at bay enough. Head dropping she sat still.

 

“He’s still bound. If I don’t give him release he’ll die when I die.”

 

Dean stepped between her and his father looking John in the face. Suddenly the creature erupted into laughter.

 

“So I give you your heart’s desire, boy. Does he know how his son loves him? You seek to take my place? Fine, between he and thee you will find pleasure with no other.”

 

She subsided into silence as Dean lifted the .45 he carried and fired once. Her body jerked and collapsed onto the stone floor. John slid down the wall, crying out in pain. Dean hurried over to his father, tugging John away from the body. His father writhed in pain,

 

 “Dean oh god…please.”

 

With a grim look on his face Dean pulled a bottle of mineral oil out of the bag his Dad carried and started to coat John’s cock, but his father pushed his hands away.

 

“No, not like that.”

 

“Dad, she said you’d die.”

 

“No, I won’t…you do it.”

 

Dean looked appalled.

 

“Dad, I can’t do that to you.”

 

“You have too, Heart’s desire remember, Dean. How long have you wanted me?”

 

“God Dad, I’m sorry. Please…I don’t know what to do.”

 

“Yes, you do. Dean just do it.”

 

John’s hands had found his son’s pants. He was groaning, skin slick with sweat, his face twisted in pain. Numbly Dean picked up the bottle of oil, slicking his hand. He worked two fingers into John, and his father grunted. Taking a deep breath Dean shoved John into his back and leaned over him.  John caught Dean by his arms, steadying his son, guiding him between John’s thighs. With a grim smile John let out his pent up breath.

 

“Hurt me.”

 

“Dad!”

 

Dean tried to jerk away, but John held him tightly. Pulling Dean forward John slid down until his son was cradled in John’s thighs. Dean flinched and muttered,

 

“Please I can’t…”

 

“Heart’s desire, Dean. Hurt me, just enough to make it feel good.”

 

 

 

They burned the chupracabra’s body after they were done. Dean could barely look his father in face. Each time he tried to speak to John he burned with shame at the things he had done to his father. Whether or not John had asked him for it, he had enjoyed it. Dean couldn’t get past the fact that he had taken pleasure in virtually raping his own father.

 

John was holed up in the hotel room, buried in his journal like it was some kind of defense against all life’s problems. Dean hadn’t been able to get him to talk about what had happened and was resigned to the fact that he never would. Something the creature had said to John when Dean bound her troubled him; it sat just on the outside of Dean’s consciousness. Then her honey smooth voice drifted out of his thoughts… _“Between he and thee you will find pleasure with no other.”_

What the hell did that mean? With a sigh Dean strolled into the bar in the hotel lobby and took a seat. He ordered a beer and sat drinking with a glum expression on his face. A girl was staring at him from across the room, and Dean decided he would test the waters. She seemed more than companionable and he set out to forget that for one moment, on the dirt floor of some squalid ancient ruins, he had had what he desperately wanted for so long. He would have to put it aside, for all he knew when he got back to their hotel room his father would be gone.

 

 

The girl was more than willing but when Dean found himself in her room, in her bed, he couldn’t do it. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to have her. She was beautiful, and more than skillful enough for any man, but his body wouldn’t…couldn’t work right. He was horrified. She was kind about it, but after an hour of trying she just gave up. Humiliated Dean had hurried out of the apartment and gone back to the cramped little room he shared with his father.

 

“Dad,” Dean hissed, and John finally looked up at his son.

 

John looked mortified in a way that Dean had felt earlier. He swallowed hard, and Dean felt his stomach cramp for an entirely different reason that before.

 

“I think that we’re….”

 

“Cursed, yeah, I know. She did something when we bound her, before the binding cut off all her power. She made it so that the two of us,” John paused blushing.

 

Dean sat down at the table across from him.

 

“Did you try?”

 

Dean didn’t think it was possible but his Dad’s face grew redder.

 

“There was a girl, a hooker in the alley.”

 

“Dad.”

 

“I made sure she was clean, besides it didn’t matter anyway. I couldn’t. Nothing she did made any difference.”

 

“Me too, this girl in the bar. She tried, I tried, but it was like she wasn’t even there. I didn’t feel anything.” Dean frowned then cocked his head at John, "Uh...have you tried you know." 

 

He flushed then made a gesture with his hand. John's face went crimson again. Finally, he nodded.

 

"Yeah, that works okay, but it wasn't what I wanted."

 

"So we either fly solo or it's just the two of us…"

 

"Dean," John warned, but Dean merely shrugged. “There got to be a way to break the curse."

 

Dean stood, flailing his arms in the air and stalking around the room.

 

"We should have probably thought of that before we iced the bitch."

 

John flopped down on the bed.

 

"Actually we fried the bitch after you iced her ass with the .45. Probably not our finest moment as far as planning and execution. Oh god, what are we going to do?"

 

Dean rolled over onto one elbow then stroked a hand over his father's thigh.

 

"I can think of one thing we can do…hey, I haven't had any since noon. I'm getting a little antsy."

 

"Dean, I'm your father."

 

"That didn't stop you from panting like a bitch in heat when I had your ass down on the floor in the pyramid."

 

John flung himself off the bed, and stormed across the room, all but kicking the door open. The door swung out into the hall and caromed off the wall with a resounding bang. Two elderly men in the hall jumped back, staring into the room. John stomped into the hall, and whirled.

 

"You keep that attitude and you won't be getting any soon, at least not from me, mister."

 

The two older men watched John stalk down the hall, and disappear into the stairwell. Dean rolled off the bed, and walked to the door. One of the senior citizens offered him a wry smile and a pat on the shoulder.

 

"Don't worry son, my wife says that all the time. They always forgive you, eventually."

 

 

 

So they had spent the next two weeks fighting and fucking, sometimes both at the same time. They tried ignoring the urge and it never worked. Whoever or whatever she was she was laughing at them from the pits of hell now. Dean felt like seven kinds of fool, but when he slid inside John nothing mattered.

 

Finally, admitting defeat they had come back to Santa Fe, holed up in the same hotel where this whole disaster had started and spent their days researching, and their nights annoying the neighbors.

 

Dean sighed; John was snoring loudly beside him, mouth slack and little bit of drool forming at the corner of his lips. Isn't that cute, Dean thought sarcastically. Glancing at the wall beneath the headboard, the wall that they shared with Brad and Janet, next door, he sighed. With a grin he shook John making sure that the movements were hard enough the bang the headboard against the plaster. When he heard movement from the next room he leaned over and shook John again.

 

"Wake up, Daddy..." he said at the top of his voice, "Baby boy has a present for you…a nice hard, hot present. So hand me that bottle of lube and spread 'em."

 

The End

 

Kudos to anyone who gets the Movie reference.

 


End file.
